


Did You Die?

by QueenRamsia



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Deadpool - Fandom, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man - Fandom, spideypool - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenRamsia/pseuds/QueenRamsia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade sometimes dies on missions and Peter just wants to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Die?

Peter used to always ask the question like it was his religion. And Wade, weary and aching, would always answer, “No.”

But then, after they'd been together for a few years, Peter’s voice changed as he asked. “Did you die?” He'd whisper, kissing Wade’s scarred shoulder, and it'd sound more like an answer than a question.

Still, Wade always said, “No.”

He didn't understand why Peter always insisted on that question being his greeting whenever he walked through the door after a mission, barely giving him time to pull off his boots. Did it matter if he died or not? Wade was immortal, more or less. He could remember times when he'd been blown to bloody bits and his pieces somehow fused back together into a whole--if but slightly madder--person. It never bothered him. He always got the job done, got paid, and then wasted the money on tacos and booze. 

Then a certain arachnid swung into his life and made it impossible to not care anymore. In the beginning, Peter tried to always be with Wade no matter where he went or what he did to rescue him if he was in over his head. It was taxing on the young hero, Wade knew it was, and so he stopped working for awhile. But the kill was all he'd known for so long that he began to lose himself, and Peter saw it. 

“Kill bad guys, Wade,” he’d said stiffly. “Only kill the evil ones and I’ll be okay.”

So Wade did. It was easier for Peter, though he decided to stay home when Wade went away now. Couldn’t take the blood, and besides, New York wasn’t going to protect itself. Wade understood. 

What Wade didn't understand was the question. Peter’s silky fingers would brush across his scarred body, as if searching for wounds. Wade always made sure he was completely healed by the time he was home, though, so Peter never found anything.

And still he asked, “Did you die?”

It started to become irritating. Wade was sure Peter meant well, but he wouldn't ever tell the delicate man even if he did die, so what was the point of asking?

“Because one day,” Peter murmured in response, fingers playing with Wade’s as they lay side by side in their bed, “you might tell me the truth.”

“How do you know I'm not telling the truth, baby boy?” Wade asked, the voices in his head hissing at him for his stupidity. Of course Peter knew. How couldn't he?

Peter turned to him in the dark and Wade squinted at him as he said, “You died when you went to Budapest to stop that trafficking ring.”

Wade hesitated long enough for Peter to continue, “And again when you--”

“Okay, yeah, so maybe I don't always tell you the truth. But I live more often than not! I'm very good at my job, Petey.”

Peter shuddered, but ignored his boyfriend’s statement. “I know when you die. You come home and you smell of it.”

Wade laughed, “You’re part bloodhound now?”

After gently punching the man in his scarred stomach, Peter said, “And you walk differently, too.”

“Like a zombie?” Wade asked, desperately trying to hide his growing discomfort.

“I don't know,” Peter mused, “but you don't walk like Wade.”

“Because I'm still Deadpool when I first get home.”

“Really?” Peter snapped, his true anger finally slipping through his calm facade. “Are you still going to lie to me?” 

“I--what are you doing?”

Peter kicked off the blanket and shoved his boyfriend’s arms away from him. “Fuck you, Wade.”

Wade shivered at the sudden lack of warmth and followed Peter out of their bedroom and into the kitchen. Focusing on not staring at his glorious butt, Wade said to him, “Petey, baby boy, what--”

“I can't take this much longer!” Peter shouted, suddenly turning on the scarred man. “Do you know why I ask if you die? Or are you just that fucking stupid?” 

Wade bristled, “Well maybe if you were easier to read, I'd figure it out.”

“I'm an open b--this isn't about me! Dammit, Wade, why can't you just understand anything for two seconds?” Peter gripped at his hair, red-faced. “Is it so difficult to see how much I love you?”

Wade stayed pressed against the far wall. “I love you too, baby boy, but--”

“Then let me take care of you!” 

Before Wade really knew what was happening, he caught a wooden spoon out of the air. Perplexed, he stared at it. “Did you just throw a spoon at me?”

Peter ignored the question and began pacing back and forth. “All I want is for you to answer me honestly when I ask you so I know how to take care of it. You always want to just go to bed but I don't! I can't! I know when you've been hurt and I know when you've died and I don't care if you'll heal, I want to help you!” As an afterthought, he added quietly, “While I'm still young enough to be with you and do so.”

Time seemed to becoming incredibly slow as Wade stared at Peter. His soft blue eyes, his porcelain shoulders, the delicious dusting of soft brown hair that disappeared beneath the seam of his boxers. What did he do to earn such a lover? He wasn't a good person, yet somehow his shitty life was turned upside down and he was given this angelic specimen.

So perhaps that's why Wade whispered, “I'm...sorry.”

Peter heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders back, finally meeting Wade’s eyes. “Okay.”

His voice was defeated, as if he was saying that just to make the conversation end. Wade probably should have said something else, something about how he'd change, he promised. But instead he begged, “Come back to bed with me, baby boy. Let me earn your forgiveness.”

“I'm not with you just for sex, Wade,” Peter said, but he was smiling despite himself. 

Wade worked his jaw. That wasn't exactly the answer he'd expected, but his boyfriend was slightly happier again, so all was well. “Then at least let me cuddle you.” 

Peter conceded to that and, once safely back under the covers of their bed, Wade practically smothered him in an embrace. The young hero couldn't bring himself to care too much, though. 

***

Wade’s next mission lasted two long months and resulted in the bomb he was supposed to disarm blowing up just as he touched it. It took two days for his body to completely heal.

When he walked in the door, Peter was sitting up waiting for him, though it was well past three in the morning. “Did you die?” He asked, his wide eyes following each of Wade’s movements. 

Taking the time it took to take off his mask to prepare himself, Wade formulated his response. While he could have said something profound and romantic, he simply stated, “Yes.”

Peter nodded mutely and stood. To Wade’s immense surprise, the younger went to him and bent to untie his boots. Once done, he straightened, took Wade’s hand, and then led him to the bedroom. Pushing him down onto the bed, Peter said, “Wait here.”

Wade watched him walk away and listened to him pat down to the bathroom. The faucet creaked on and the echo of running water could be heard. A few minutes later, Peter returned and led Wade down the hall to the steaming room and helped him take off his weapons and suit. Normally, this would be where Wade said something about having sexy times or something, but he couldn't find the words. The voices taunted him for it, but then Peter began to remove his own clothes and they shut up. Wade squirmed under Peter’s gaze once they were both naked. It was like he was under a microscope and every blemish on his disgusting body was being examined. 

“Well?” Wade grumbled, his voice thick.

Peter shook his head, snorting, and helped Wade into the bathtub. He hissed at the temperature, but then Peter stepped in and sat beside him and it suddenly wasn't bad at all.

It was all infuriatingly slow. Peter rubbed Wade’s back and shoulders, peppering kisses on the back of his neck. After a few moments of desperately trying to ignore the growing heat in his stomach, Wade panted, “Dammit, baby boy.” 

Peter sucked on the sweet spot on Wade’s neck, coaxing forth a low groan, and whispered, “How did it happen?”

“How did what happen?” Wade gasped.

“How did you die?”

“Bomb...Petey!...blew up early.” 

Peter nodded, his hair brushing against Wade’s shoulder blade. “What hurts?”

“My skin,” Wade said.

“That always hurts,” Peter pointed out.

“Not always,” Wade whispered, his voice far beyond breathy.

“Oh? When doesn't it?”

Wade turned around, water sloshing up around them, and met Peter’s blue eyes with his brown ones. “When we're fucking.”

Peter smiled. “I'm supposed to be taking care of you.”

“You're killing me, baby boy,” Wade groaned.

“You're so cute when you beg,” Peter teased.

“I thought I was cute when I wore dresses,” Wade said, but the humor was lost in a moan as Peter bent forward to kiss his neck. 

“Alright,” Peter straightened and stood up, water cascading down his lean body. Wade openly gawked as Peter stepped out of the tub and bent down--Jesus, his butt--to grab a towel. He turned to Wade and grinned, “I trust my amazing skills have rejuvenated you, so if your ass isn't in that bed in your cutest dress in ten minutes I'm going to have to punish you.”

Wade’s stomach flipped as Peter left the bathroom. The clicking of the shutting door snapped him out of his euphoric daze and he stumbled out of the tub, grabbing up a towel and running to the bedroom to find the perfect garb to please his baby boy. And to think, all it took to bring out dominant Peter--Wade's personal favorite in the bedroom--was telling him he'd died on a mission.


End file.
